


Speedfreak Kitsuragi Gets What He Wants

by pikalex88



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kineema Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Oral Sex, Stereo partnership hinted at but not acted on, in a consensual way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikalex88/pseuds/pikalex88
Summary: Harry and Kim have a known dynamic. Harry is reckless, emotional, foolhardy. Kim is reserved, cautious, composed.But put Kim Kitsuragi behind the wheel of a motor carriage, and everything is flipped on its head.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi, Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	Speedfreak Kitsuragi Gets What He Wants

**Author's Note:**

> Allllll the way back in January, some horny Disco fans were possessed by a spirit of erotic fiction and spun a tale of what happens when Kim gets to drive fast and run wild. I offered to turn the ideas from the night into a fully written fic... and 8 months later, after many many revisions and cursing and tweaking across three different countries, here it is.
> 
> Endless thanks to Kawa most of all, who abandoned a party to join in the original brainstorm, collected our thoughts into one place, and who in the intervening months became my own partner in love and in (gay) crime. I'd never have gotten this over the finish line without your encouragement and contributions, thank you darling <3
> 
> Great thanks also to everyone who shared ideas in the first place - Raenlok, Bagel, Ame, Jeremy, and Sharpie.  
> And to the others who provided encouragement and beta-reading in the intervening months. This is truly a labour of love for the DE community and our odd little corner of the internet, and I hope you enjoy <3

Within any unit of the RCM, a seasoned officer knew that understanding the dynamics at play in your given precinct was as important as any other aspect of your work. It could save your life if you knew who to call for backup when you needed a level head and steady hand, or how to keep on your lazareth's good side. It was also simple pragmatism that given the kind of overtime RCM work demanded, you’d be spending more time around your fellow officers than anyone else in your life. Knowing what made them tick was invaluable for avoiding the landmines of petty office politics or interpersonal issues.

The 41st Precinct had the kind of collection of strong willed individuals that made this particularly crucial. It didn’t take long to learn that Vicquemare should never be spoken to until he’s had his coffee. That nothing even _remotely_ resembling innuendo should be mentioned around Torson. That Gottlieb appreciated fine scotch as a bribe - but couldn’t be counted on to actually treat you any better for it. That Minot was mild mannered as a choice, not a natural inclination, and woe unto anyone who failed to understand this and got on her bad side.

Harry du Bois had an entire guidebook of his own that any member of the 41st mentally consulted often... but since coming back from Martinaise, the rules had changed. In particular, the key to understanding the new Harry was to understand the dynamic he had with the newest member of the precinct, Kim Kitsuragi.

Harry is reckless, emotional, careless in his pursuit of the solution to any puzzle tossed his way. Kim is methodical, reserved, calculating in breaking down problems into solvable pieces. Harry rushes into problems head on, Kim steers him away from anything that would hurt him too badly. Harry shows his emotions freely whether he wants to or not, responding immediately and expressively to any kind of stimuli. Kim is composed, always in control of the situation and what he’s choosing to show of whatever internal fire is driving him, giving away only the smallest tells to his real emotions.

But if someone were to witness the current scene of Harry du Bois bouncing and rolling in the backseat of a Coupris Kineema, hands scrambling to brace himself for the next turn, they would realize that putting Kim Kitsuragi in a motor carriage completely flips the dynamic on its head. Kim is grinning like a maniac, aggressive music blasting over the radio, hand on the clutch as he expertly gains every reckless edge he can over their fleeing suspect, while Harry holds on for dear life and hopes that this time it doesn’t end with Kim ramming anything. 

“Hah! We’ve got him now,” Kim gloats, his excitement clear as the carriage in front of them hesitates, deviating course and then swinging back, wasting enough time for Kim to close the distance. 

Harry does wish he could enjoy this fully; Kim’s open expression, filled with confidence and focused enthusiasm, is unbelievably appealing. Even in the private moments they’ve cultivated in the many months since that first case, intimate and deeply personal as they may be, Kim struggles to let his feelings or desires show so openly. Not that this stops Harry ‘Can Opener’ du Bois from connecting with his partner - but it’s something special to see Kim in control and blatantly loving it, no coaxing required. Sadly, his enjoyment of this moment is somewhat distracted as he attempts to firstly not lose his lunch all over the white suede of Kim’s precious Kineema, and secondly to keep from screaming as Kim pulls off stunts that by all rights should kill them both.

Harry's thoughts are interrupted by the stolen carriage coming to a sudden stop - how precisely Kim cornered the perp, Harry cannot fully comprehend through the thrum of his heartbeat and the panting of his breath.

The dazed punk (who at this point was wracking up an impressive rap sheet of robbery, assault, _and_ motor carriage jacking) stumbles out of his carriage and takes off at an unsteady run. 

A positive development - except that Harry can’t help but notice that Kim hasn’t touched the brakes. 

As the punk spares a nervous glance over his shoulder, Harry makes eye contact, and shares a moment of connection as they both wonder whether Lieutenant Kitsuragi is actually going to end this chase with vehicular manslaughter. 

Harry is _pretty_ sure Kim wouldn’t do that. The punk, basing his assessment of Kim’s character only from his driving habits of the last few minutes, is _absolutely_ sure he will and is already praying to any Innocence whose name he can recall.

With a precision that crosses from practicality and into showmanship, Kim swings the Kineema around sharply at the last possible moment, wheels squealing, Harry’s head bouncing off the frame as the impulse to brace himself comes too late as usual. 

Before he can shake off the spinning dizziness Kim is already off like a shot, jumping out of the driver’s seat and taking off after the punk, smoothly translating the momentum of the Kineema into his own running start. Harry may have the reputation as the more physical of the two, a relentless jogging machine to Kim’s long suffering dismay - but Lieutenant Kitsuragi is coiled power and can sprint faster than most would expect when the situation calls for it. By the time Harry rolls out of the Kineema to try and back up his partner, Kim has nearly closed the distance on the suspect. 

Not even out of the alley and onto the largest street ahead, the punk makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder. His panic at seeing the lieutenant so close on his heels provides all the distraction Kim needs to make it into arms reach. He grabs the punk by the back of his leather jacket (‘BLOODY BOBBY’ - more appropriate for the name of a cocktail than a jacket slogan, in Harry’s opinion) - and before the man can get turned around to put up a fight, Kim neatly strikes out in a kick that sweeps the punk’s legs out from under him. 

With brutal efficiency Kim follows him down with a knee to the back, pulling the man’s arms back. It would be a textbook perfect image of a professional RCM hold if it wasn’t for the lieutenant’s windswept hair and smile so sharp you could cut yourself on it - altogether a more dangerous and cocksure air than you’d find in the placidly professional ranks of the RCM’s training officers. 

Harry stumbles to a stop in front of this scene, clutching his head and staring - unsteady, uncertain, and uncomfortably aroused. Given that the situation has clearly resolved itself without him, his mind is suggesting an overwhelming variety of next steps; All options are as impractical as they are inappropriate, which is to say, very. 

Kim looks up at Harry, over the back of the struggling and cursing punk pinned to the ground, eyebrow raised. “Do you plan to offer some assistance, detective, or are you just enjoying the show?”

“Right, right, uh-” Harry stutters, flushing, more attentive to the way that Kim’s voice is breathless after that burst of exertion than the actual content of what he said. The lieutenant only rolls his eyes, more teasing than chastising - “Handcuffs, perhaps?” 

“Yes, handcuffs, great! Love them. For crimes, I mean! No, wait, for criminals, not for crimes, fuck,” Harry rambles, the punk stopping his generic cursing to look up from the dirt, “what the fuck dude, are you some kind of pervert cop?” 

“No no, I’m a sorry cop, pervert cop isn’t even-” 

“Officer. Handcuffs to restrain the suspect. From my patrol vehicle. Now.” 

That does the trick, Harry moving to obey that voice of authority and regaining some composure - which he immediately loses again as Kim adds “you do know where to find them, don’t you?” with a wink that only Harry can see.

He hustles to the carriage, grabbing the cuffs from the glove box and jogging back to find Kim wrapping up his recital of the suspect’s rights as a citizen of Revachol (it doesn’t take long - it’s a short list.) As Kim’s hands are occupied maintaining the hold, Harry kneels and leans in close against Kim, bending down and snapping the handcuffs into place. He feels like he might be losing his mind because he swears that as he does this, he feels Kim’s lips briefly caressing the back of his neck - a tickle of an inhale as Kim _smells_ him.

It’s at this inconvenient moment that another motor carriage makes the turn and comes to a much less showy stop as Minot and Vicquemare arrive on the scene. Harry jumps back, hands behind his back, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar - earning him a suspicious glare from Jean. 

“Officers. The suspect is apprehended and ready to be served an appropriate fine,” Kim reports, straightening smoothly and without a hint of contrition. “I think we have sufficient evidence, given that he assaulted the clerk in front of a dozen customers, dropped his stolen goods on the way out, and hijacked that carriage in plain sight of ourselves and everyone else on the street.”

“Right, good work Kitsuragi. Cut and dry. We can take it from here, thanks for the assist,” Jean offers back, with an approving nod directed pointedly at Kim and Kim only as he pulls out his ledger. Harry opens his mouth to protest but snaps it shut again as Kim puts a casual but firm hand on his shoulder, forcefully directing Harry to turn and move with him - offering Judit a friendly nod on their way past. 

“Awww but Kim, why does Jean get the fun part, I wanted to really throw the book at this guy! I bet we could’ve even used one of the special forms,” Harry whines as he puts up a token resistance to Kim’s insistent pushing - though only complaining once out of earshot of his former-partner. He dreads to think what kind of menial office-work Jean would saddle him with if he heard the shitkid being anything but grateful that he’d been allowed back on the beat. 

“Hmm. If that’s your idea of fun I won’t keep you. But I had a diversion of my own in mind if you’re willing to indulge me?” Kim’s gaze is cutting and heavy in a way that feels dangerous, some mix of amusement and anticipation in his tone that Harry can’t quite parse but that puts him in mind of how the mouse must feel under the paw of a cat taking its time to play before going in for the kill. A clench of the gut - but not a sensation he’s adverse to in the slightest.

“I’ll indulge you in literally anything - is it a sex thing? Please tell me it’s a sex thing,” Harry responds hopefully but lightly, waiting for the teasing eyeroll or dismissive cough, definitely _not_ expecting Kim to meet his eyes and just _smirk._ His detecting mind notes the dilation of Kim’s pupils, the slight blush of redness in his ears, the elevated breath rate - signs of a body still flush with adrenaline after an _intense high speed chase_. “Holy shit it IS a sex thing isn’t it-” louder than necessary before Kim knocks him off balance with a shove towards the Kineema. 

“Get in the carriage Harry. It’s a lovely night, and we’re going for a drive.”

* * *

Eagerly clambering into the back seat while Kim smoothly hops up into the front, Harry leans forward to begin on a series of questions - only to be slammed back and cut off as Kim shifts into gear and takes off in a squeal of rubber, flicking the radio back on to fill the carriage with heart pumping rhythm. While he’s still in the process of recovering precise memory for the layout of Jamrock’s streets, Harry has found since returning that he has kept an uncanny gut instinct for what direction will take him where he wants to go - which is why when Kim cuts into a side street that is decidedly _not_ on any route back to the Precinct _or_ their apartment, Harry begins to suspect Something Is Up beyond the ‘let’s get back and get down on each other’ plan he’d been expecting.

The destination doesn’t turn out to be a secret underground sex dungeon, a “specialty toy shop”, or any of the other lurid options Harry had conjured - but an enclosed empty lot. Complete with a ‘road under construction’ sign by the entrance that Kim neatly drives around before coming to a stop and shutting off the engine, the whine of cooling coils echoing loudly. 

Before Harry has time to formulate a question Kim has unbuckled and stepped out of the driver’s seat in a single smooth motion, door slamming shut behind him. Trying to keep up, Harry fumbles with his seatbelt, when to his surprise the side door opens and Kim hops back _into_ the Kineema. He asserts a confident and unquestioning mastery over the small space- looming over Harry and slamming the door closed behind him. An echoing thud to match the thumping of Harry’s heart. 

Taking in Kim’s expression, Harry suddenly recalls a former case, THE VERY SAD CLOWN, in which it had turned out that a unlucky circus performer had mocked the wrong local magnate and met a messy end in the jaws of their star performing lion. He’d wondered at the time what it must have felt like to hear the slam of the cage door shut and be met with hungry eyes. Was there a moment of understanding, of realization? A feline satisfaction in there being nowhere to go, an anticipation at the guarantee of a meal to be devoured at leisure? 

He looks up at Kim, kneeling on the seat with a hand still resting on the door. Gaze heavy lidded and burning. Taking in Harry’s frozen posture and wide eyes… and biting his lip, slowly and without a hint of self consciousness. Yes, Harry decides, yes to all of that, and he only has another moment to hope this doesn’t give him inappropriate feelings about clowns before one of Kim’s hands goes to cover Harry’s on the seatbelt buckle and the other grabs a fistful of his collar, yanking him forward and into a searing kiss.

Harry distantly registers the click of the belt finally snapping open, more concerned with the way the lieutenant’s _tongue_ is already _in_ his mouth. The pressure catches his attention though - the palm of Kim’s hand pressing against the already growing hardness of Harry’s cock, drawing out a moan that is greedily devoured, kisses deep and consuming. 

With a parting nip at Harry’s lower lip Kim draws back, and Harry has a moment to take in the cocky smile, the already reddening and spit slicked lips, the wildness in his eyes. Then Kim’s hand is moving to his chest and shoving him down onto the seat, pulling his hips to shift him forward so he is fully prone and Kim has room to settle over top of him. It’s a thorough manhandling - too impatient to explain to Harry what he wants but just taking it, moving him until he’s _just so_.

Staring at Harry, clearly aware of the picture he’s painting and preening in it, Kim lifts his gloved hand to his mouth and takes the leather fingertip in his teeth, pulling it off and tossing it into the front, then doing the same with the other. Harry feels lightheaded with how quickly all the blood in his head rushes to his groin - which doesn’t escape Kim’s notice, being met with an appreciative hum and a grind that makes Harry aware that he’s not the only one who's feeling it. His hands flutter upwards and Kim grabs them, placing them on his thighs. Instinct at least takes over at this point, catching up while the rest of Harry’s mind is reeling, a voice directing him to splay his hands around Kim’s waist with a rough squeeze to match Kim’s intensity. 

“Still want to be filling out forms with Jean? I’m sure I have my own copy of the relevant paperwork. I can drop you off and take care of my own needs, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Kim teases, grinding with exaggerated and slow rolling of his hips that look so small and delicate in Harry’s hands. 

The mention of his “heterosexual life partner” in this _particular_ context causes a blush to spread across Harry’s face, ducking his face into the crevasse of the seat partition. He feels Kim’s dark chuckle as much as he hears it, breath suddenly hot and immediate as Kim leans in and brushes his lips teasingly against the shell of his ear. 

“Khmm… or perhaps no need to be at cross purposes. Officer Vicquemare is admirably pragmatic, and I’m sure he and I could find a way to achieve our goals for the evening in stereo. You wouldn’t mind that, would you detective? Purely in the name of efficiency,” Kim purrs, unrelenting as Harry whines in embarrassment, muffled in the cushion - turning into a full throated moan as Kim’s warm ungloved fingers thread through the hair at the back of his neck and _pull_ him back into the open. 

“But not tonight, I think. Another time. I can’t say I feel like sharing tonight.” A pronouncement accompanied by Kim’s slender hands - gods how are they so _warm_ \- slipping underneath Harry’s gaudy silk shirt. When the tension in the fabric stops his hands from moving as freely as he wishes, Kim leans back, pulls them out to grab either side of the shirt and _tears_ , buttons flying.

“Hey, I actually liked that shirt,” is what Harry _intends_ to say…. but what comes out is “hey I _achhhhhhh,”_ as Kim wastes no time in running his hands along Harry’s exposed chest, diving back in to nuzzle at the soft hair there - a gentleness immediately contrasted as he runs his tongue over a nipple, sucking forcefully and rolling it between his lips. 

Fire and teeth, cornered and comforted, holding on to Kim’s hips for dear life and grinding convulsively as Kim takes him apart with wet heat and clever hands. The angle isn’t quite right like this to provide the pressure his thrusts are chasing, but his mind is a haze regardless. Stars bursting behind his eyes as Kim sinks his teeth into his neck _just so_. Soothing the sting with a rasping tongue, following with another sharp bite, leaving him dizzy with the uncertainty of which to expect next as Kim marks his way across Harry’s neck and chest.

In the static filled buzz of his thoughts, it occurs to Harry that unlike Kim “fashionably popped collar” Kitsuragi, his wardrobe is _not_ going to obscure the marks Kim is so enthusiastically making. He can see himself shuffling to his desk in C-wing tomorrow morning, snagging the case files off his desk and hurrying out, thinking he’d managed to avoid any awkward scrutiny. Colliding directly with Jean in the stairwell. Watching as Jean opens his mouth to chew him out, then flicks his eyes down to the vivid purple and red on Harry’s neck, mouth snapping back shut. Flush rising on his cheeks before he grumbles, “ _necking like a couple of fucking teenagers, I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit,_ ” pushing past and slamming the stairwell door behind him. (Another vision, just at the edge of his mental reach - Jean marching to his own desk, face red, hoping his frustration reads as judgement and not anything more… _flustered_ )

A sharp nip at his earlobe snaps Harry back to the present, Kim’s voice low and dangerous - “Is your mind wandering, detective? Is this not enough to keep your attention? I’m wounded.” 

“Nonono, s’good, s’perfect, was just thinking how it looks, who’ll see...” Harry desperately reassures, back arching with a gasp as Kim lets out a considering hum and presses a punishing thumb against a particularly bright bruise along his collarbone. 

“Hmm. Concerned about anyone in particular, double yfreitor? Perhaps… a fellow officer? A brother in arms?” A teasing mimicry of the authority Kim brings to bear during interrogations, and still that pressure on the edge of pain, as Harry squirms and stammers incoherently.

“ _Please, Kim….”_ he whines, pinned in place by that unflinching gaze and the single blooming touchpoint of sweet spreading sting at his collar. Not sure even as he says it what he’s asking for. Relief? Judgement? 

Whatever it is, he throws himself on Kim’s mercy to grant it, and _oh_ the _hiss_ of agonizing rapture as with an approving hum the lieutenant puts his weight behind a final unbearable push before pulling his thumb back. Brushing fingertips delicately over the deepened bruise, oversensitive nerves unsure whether to interpret such softness as comfort or pain.

“No, not willing to confess tonight? Well - it hardly matters to me. You’ll give up your secret one way or another, eventually. I have other plans for you at the moment.” Cool air rushes in and sends a bereft shiver down Harry’s spine as Kim leans back on his haunches. It’s a vision out of a dream - the moonlight streaming in from the Kineema’s window, pale circle framing his face. Lips swollen and flushed but still crooked in a cocksure smile. He is _devastatingly_ beautiful like this and knows it, pupils dark and wide as he graciously allows Harry this moment of silent devotion. Then he is back in action, zero to a hundred, grasping the tattered remains of Harry’s disco shirt and lifting, readjusting him to an upright position leaned against the far door. He unbuckles Harry’s belt without ceremony and yanks down his pants and briefs in a single movement.

“Wait, wait, Kim, this isn’t _fair_ , I’m basically naked and you haven’t even taken off your jacket,” Harry complains, reaching to pull the omnipresent bomber off Kim’s shoulders - but his hands are slapped away.

“You should know by now that I have _no intention_ to play fair, Harry.” 

A sensible deduction yes, Harry’s mind offers, and then without a moment of further consideration Kim settles himself down on the seat and wraps his lips around the head of Harry’s cock.

It’s a test of volition to not just come right then and there. The wet drag. The teasing flick of Kim’s tongue along the slit. This isn’t foreplay or teasing, this is cocksucking of the ‘I’m going to die because you are sucking my soul out via my dick’ variety, which Harry would decry as another underhanded move... if he was capable of intelligible speech. Which he most certainly is not. 

He takes the only petty recourse available, lifting his hips off the seat in a punishing sudden thrust - the cold edge of Kim’s glasses pressing against his gut as his cock is pushed down Kim’s throat, obscene sounds of suppressed gagging muffled as Kim’s mouth is forced flush against the base. But this is _Kim fucking Kitsuragi_ and there is no upper hand to be gained - his composure unfaltering even as drool trickles down his chin, throat convulsing against Harry’s cock, breath through his nose heavy and tickling, pressed as it is against Harry’s crotch. He looks up and their eyes meet, Harry shuddering and cursing but unable to look away, Kim satisfied and smug, sparkling with mirth and pride.

For a while they stare, an intense connection, Kim keeping his eyes locked on Harry’s even as he pulls slowly back, swallows, and with a deep breath, brings his mouth down to slide right back to the base. Hitting a rhythm bobbing back and forth he sucks harder, hollows his cheeks, and with that... it’s too much for focus. 

Harry throwing his head back with a moan, eyes shut, hands grasping for a hold on the suede seating. _So close_ , lost in sensation, world fuzzing around the edges. 

Kim pulls off with a lewd pop, string of spit along his chin, and snaps his fingers **loudly**. 

“Eyes on me, Harry. Now.” 

Harry is quick to obey, cock twitching, chastised and chilled to be so suddenly deprived of the heat of Kim’s mouth - but Kim makes him wait, leaning back to shrug off his bomber and toss it carelessly into the front seat. Leather shoulder holster exposed and sexier than it has any right to be, emphasizing his compact build. Unbuckled with efficiency and joining the jacket. Lastly, he strips off his white v-neck, stuck slightly to the skin from the sweat of adrenaline and exertion in the earlier pursuit. 

With a smirk he balls it up and tosses it directly at Harry’s face, and while Harry sputters and grabs at it to pull off (or perhaps take in a deep whiff of _eau de Kim_ ), sinks back down to take him deep into his throat.

Lust only inflamed by that little strip tease, Harry finds himself immediately back at the edge, cock twitching, hands seeking some kind of purchase to ground himself, one burying itself desperately in Kim’s hair. 

“ _Fuuuuuck, gaaaah,_ **gods** Kim I - I can’t, I’m, _ahhhhh fuck,_ ‘m gonna come, _”_ Harry groans urgently, sweating and writhing with the wave of sensation building to a point of undoing. Tugging insistently at Kim’s hair, sure that this can’t be how Kim imagined this night going, surely he wants Harry to fuck him, wants him to hold out - but Kim keeps moving even as Harry’s grip tightens to what must be a painful degree, moaning around Harry’s cock loud enough to drown out his warnings. _Fucking hell this_ **_is_ ** _how he wants me,_ Harry realizes with an impossible tightening of lust and this is too much, he’s burning, his mind is aflame, every muscle is a quivering spring of tension-

Kim’s mouth pulling free, hand wrapping around his cock and pumping, Harry keeping his eyes on the sight even as they fight to roll back in his head. Force of will rewarded as he sees as well as feels Kim’s lips against the tip of his cock forming the single word - “ **Now**.” 

He snaps all at once, sobbing, shouting, but unable to look away as he spills in Kim’s open mouth. Messy, twitching, streaks of cum splattering along Kim’s cheek, the bottom of his glasses, Kim’s expression hungrily debauched as he milks Harry’s cock for all it’s worth, tongue extended and lapping at the weeping head.

Utterly spent, Harry watches with wide glazed eyes as Kim leans back and pointedly swallows. Unwraps his hand from Harry’s overstimulated cock, and brings it to his mouth, slowly licking his fingers clean. Running a single finger deliberately along a stripe of cum on his cheek… and then reaching up, pressing into Harry’s willing mouth. 

He sucks with a weak moan, tasting his own release, eyes fluttering closed - and then the taste is flooding his mouth as Kim pulls his finger out and surges upward to devour him in a kiss, tongue sweeping into his mouth, sloppily dragging against his lips.

Kim’s motions are urgent, careless, as he pulls back and undoes his own straining pants ( _and gods, just look at him Harry, you’ve never seen Kim this wrecked, glasses cum-streaked and askew and he doesn’t even care, he’s revelling in it_ ). As soon as he’s freed himself Kim wastes no time in wrapping a spit-slicked hand around his cock, hissing loudly and thrusting wildly into his own fist, other hand coming up to run along Harry’s chest.

“ _Ghhhh_ , Harry, **yes** , _Harry_ .” Kim is loud, unrestrained and shameless, chasing his pleasure and drinking in Harry undone and disheveled before him. Even in the haze of the afterglow Harry can sense the meaning in this for Kim - to have Harry here, like this, marked and taken to pieces in the Kineema. Indulging his possessive streak and Harry is _his,_ the same as his precious motor carriage, and isn’t it a wonderful thing, to be his - to be well cared for, carefully chosen, lovingly maintained. Lovingly, but not _gently_ , Kim a man who only cares to control things that are _hard_ to control with their edge of risk and recklessness. Tequila Sunset, a machine not finely tuned as much as one wrong move from fiery destruction, the wildest ride in the whole Isola. And here Kim has let him, into his life and into his MC, and here Harry is beneath him, debauched and enthralled, responsive to his every command.

Harry pulls Kim’s pants down further, squeezing his ass, murmuring encouragement as Kim trembles and curses and buries a hand desperately in Harry’s hair-

A sudden pull, a tumble, a shift, too fast for Harry to even think to react - and he’s bent forward, pulled by the hair, an awkward strain - and Kim is straining his hips up and **shoving** his cock into Harry’s mouth as he comes with a shout. Grip on Harry’s hair tight and holding on for dear life as he thrusts in uncontrolled arrhythmic bursts, watching the bob of Harry’s throat as he swallows desperately to keep up with the sudden flow of cum. Harry is aware of how he must look - bent like a pretzel, wide eyed and swollen lipped, not able to do anything but look up in desperate supplication.

And his own view - Kim’s face free and feral in uninhibited pleasure, framed in the glare of a streetlight. A sight he won’t forget - tempted as he is by the thought of having Kim’s Sunshine Mini handy to snap this moment in time to hold onto forever (a suggestion for another night, perhaps.)

But... kind as Revachol may be to her favourite children, even she can’t keep time from marching on. Kim slumps back against the opposite door as he releases his grip, cock popping free as he lets go and Harry unbends, gasping for air. He can’t help but cough a bit, throat raw from the unexpected and unrestrained abuse.

For the first time tonight, Kim’s expression clouds over with a tinges of self-consciousness, blinking at the wheezing wrecked man before him as if only just seeing the scene for what it was.

Before he can do something so ridiculous as to _apologize_ , Harry grabs an arm and yanks Kim down onto his chest, wrapping him up in his arms and mumbling into his ear “ _fuck_ that was amazing, if this is what happens after a high speed chase, I need to make sure more gangsters steal some wheels,” voice raspy and low.

“Khm. No Harry. You will not encourage crime just to get laid,” Kim responds with flustered authority, as firm as he can be while also not-so-subtly nuzzling down into his partner’s exceptionally furry chest.

“Not even a little? Just for special occasions?”

“No. You hardly need a special occasion anyway, we’re already fucking more than is really reasonable for men our age.”

“Yes yes, and don’t get me wrong, love it. But I want another taste of this Speedfreak Kitsuragi action, you were so _cool_. Drag racing isn’t totally illegal, how about that? Kick some ass on the asphalt, pound my ass as the victory lap, totally disco,” Harry weadles, already seeing it in his head, Kim crossing the finish line with that wild grin, too cool to care for the adulation of any onlookers, eyes only on Harry with the promise that after mastering the road, he’s next.

“.... Maybe,” Kim grants, unwilling to share but considering a similar scenario in his own mind, perhaps a realization of certain Jacob Irw inspired Tip Top fantasies, not that he’d ever admit such a thing aloud.

Not that Harry needs a verbal admission to put the pieces together, humming in satisfaction that a maybe from Kim was as good as a yes in a case like this. Pleasantly boneless enough to not need to tease any further, catching his breath and enjoying the grounding weight of Kim draped over him as his chest rises and falls. 

The windows of the Kineema are an opaque fog surrounding them in a fuzzy blurred cocoon safe from the night chill, as they lie as a sweaty tangle. Kim lays his head over Harry’s heart, letting the steady rhythm ground him as the loudest sound in this quiet space. Time measured in the slowing of the rapid adrenaline-fueled beating of his own heart to a more languid pace.

A discarded button on the floor catches Harry’s eye, light glinting off cheap plastic. He sees in his mind a scene weeks from now - riding in the back on the way to interview a suspect, Kim confident and relaxed at the wheel. Suddenly noticing a button they’d missed in their clean up, lodged under the seat. Having to explain to Kim why he needs a minute before he is prepared to get out of the carriage because it’s hopeless trying to hide the instant and shameful tent in his trousers. 

“What are you looking so grim about?” Kim asks, languid and amused.

“The Kineema is trapped Kim. There are eight weapons of condensed arousal, lying in wait, ready to strike when I least expect it. This button is the vanguard, a warning of what’s to come.”

Harry can feel Kim’s mouth twitching into a smirk against his chest and doubles down, “I’m serious! You laugh now but you won’t be laughing when we’re transporting a witness and I get a hard on. I’ll be living in a state of fear, I could pop a boner at _any time_.”

Laughter shakes the last whispers of tension out of Kim as he gathers himself, sitting up to look down fondly as Harry attempts to keep a straight face (resulting only in a particularly strained Expression.)

“I wouldn’t worry, detective. We’re a resourceful pair. I’m sure in the case of such an unfortunate occurrence, we’ll find a way to rectify it.”

And, well, if the glint in Kim’s eye was anything to go by, Harry didn’t mind the sound of that at all.


End file.
